


magic shop

by tobitobios



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Garreg Mach is a university town and Jeralt owns a cafe that's frequented by the students, Healthy Relationships, Multi, The Mortifying Ordeal of Being Known, The power of friendship, also i love coffee shops so that's what's the setting is, claude is so relatable and we are just both drama kids wanting to be president, gender neutral reader, here we will talk about hopes and dreams and fears, modern! au because i cannot have any of them dying, no beta we die like Glenn, reader insert!!!!!, reader is quite the wallflower, there's discourse about race and religion and sexuality, there's going to be a lot of conversation based things, this is also just me pining over the blue lions, this just stemmed out of endless yearning because i am in love with dimitri and sylvain
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-11
Updated: 2020-06-08
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:27:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24128926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tobitobios/pseuds/tobitobios
Summary: there's a little café in the busy university town of Garreg Mach. it's always frequented by the students of the academy, the ones trying to make a name for themselves in their own way. it's a sanctuary- scattered light, intriguing conversations, soft smiles over your beverage of choice.so come on in, order something and take a seat- for here, you are safe.
Relationships: Annette Fantine Dominic/Reader, Ashe Duran | Ashe Ubert/Reader, Claude von Riegan/Reader, Dedue Molinaro/Reader, Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Reader, Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Reader, Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Sylvain Jose Gautier, Hilda Valentine Goneril/Reader, Hubert von Vestra/Reader, Linhardt von Hevring/Reader, My Unit | Byleth & Reader, Sylvain Jose Gautier/Reader, but especially dimitri and sylvain and maybe felix bc i am a simp, essentially its reader/everyone, i will update the tags as we go - Relationship, the tags don't work how i want them to
Comments: 18
Kudos: 72





	1. good morning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is best enjoyed listening to good morning by eden, and if available, an existential longing of a universe that's good and kind.

There’s always sunlight through the windows of that quiet little café in the middle of the bustling university town of Garreg Mach. It provided a small but sure sanctuary to those busy souls- the ones running around trying to make a name for themselves, the ones who wanted to have the choice of being invisible, the ones just trying to get by with what they had, the ones overworking themselves to the bone trying to teach a generation that would hold the future of the world in their hands, or the ones who really just wanted to rest and watch their world stand still.

When you walk in, you’re instantly greeted with the smell of freshly ground coffee and baked bread (today it’s sourdough with little pieces of Gautier cheese on top), the faint sounds the owner’s cat’s meow as it communicates with the neighborhood pets mingled in the deep music from the gramophone in the corner. It sounds like a dream, and maybe it is, you can never be sure. There are two baristas- twins, that is what you heard- with soft mint hair. The owner’s children. They have strange names (The girl, Byleth and the boy, Bylet). The girl was always smiling, and it made your heart skip a beat, sometimes you find yourself thinking about her when you are rushing to class with your coffee, bag full of assignments and dog-eared novels. The boy- the complete opposite- he barely smiled as he wiped down the glass windows of the café, arranging chairs on the patio or watering the many plants that decorated the humble place. His eyes are shining- they’re dark, like the expanse of space- beautiful, brilliant, maybe a little lonely. However, you find him talking to the cat sometimes, and you spot the faint glimmer of a smile, and you find yourself falling in love with him a little.

You see them around the university sometimes. Someone (was it Hilda? Or was it Lorenz? You can’t be sure) once told you that they were also research students on their way of being professors and that they were teaching some classes as well- Claude, Dimitri, and Edelgard definitely had classes with them at one point of time. It really didn’t matter to you much; you saw them when you did and that was more than enough. But for now, you are here, and you are safe in this little corner of the world.

Sitting in a small table near the large windows in the café, taking a sip from the Almyran Pine tea, writing messy notes on the margins of your tattered and coffee-stained readings (you curse Hanneman for needing to assign Aristotle for a class on state policy). Scattered light leaves gorgeous patterns on your table, you are warm as the chatter fills the air with a comforting hum. This little corner of the world was yours, and it will be until you decide otherwise, so you sink into the seat, looking out at the tabby cat basking in the warm spring sun. Here, you know peace. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is my first published work, and i hope you enjoyed it! constructive criticism is welcome and encouraged. an extremely cathartic piece of writing, quarantine has made me miss in-person conversations that i took for granted, the smell of baked bread and freshly ground-coffee and the comforting hum of conversations in coffee shops. i wanted to look at life through rose-tinted glasses for a little while, especially with the characters i love.
> 
> wholeheartedly,  
> 


	2. sunlight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ashe's voice sounds like feathers and windchimes on a spring day. there's a conversation between the two of you that starts your morning more than the tea could ever and it leads to a philosophical one about the nature of man and the state and the morality of war- and ends with a promise of doing this again sometime.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fundamentally, this is character study on Ashe, i hope it is not ooc- with implied romantic or feelings of yearning.  
> (i do just want to add that there are sensitive topics mentioned in this chapter, ones about war and death.)  
> best paired with overture I by sleeping at last.

It’s late morning, and all is calm. You were distracted from the words on paper with Byleth’s chirp from across the counter, “Good morning, how can I help you?”. You lock eyes with a familiar pair of light green ones. He smiles.

You knew him from one of your classes- he was always so kind. You remember seeing him in the dorms too- he was cooking with Dedue, and it made the common room smell lovely, and the once lonely, empty halls feel like home- like spice and the faint hint of mint.

“Hey, I see you in Hanneman’s Philosophy of the State class, and I think your opinions are amazing.” He smiles. “I’m Ashe by the way! The class is quite big, so I would not be surprised if you didn’t know me. Do you mind if I sit here?” He asked, “I won’t be long, I promise!”

You nodded. “Thank you.” He replied, his green eyes sparkling with an intensity so familiar in the halls of the Academy. “Those are very meticulous notes, no wonder you excel so well in that class!”

You take in the fragrance of mint from the cup he holds in his hands. It reminds you of home, of being young and scraping your knee on slippery rocks in the river. The sounds of pianos from the radio and your mother's hum as she dances around the living room with your father. That might be what Ashe reminds you of- a long-lost nostalgia, childlike enthusiasm, and wonder in the world that is slowly descending to darkness.

Engrossed in your reading, Ashe’s voice sounds like caramel as he hums, looking between the window his own reading, seamlessly woven into the sounds of conversation and the clinking of cups to their saucers. He continues, and it doesn’t bother you, you were nearly done with the reading anyway. You would have much rather listened to him rather than focus on Hanneman’s droning voice in your head as you read on.

It was hard to tell what was making the air sweet- the nostalgic smell of the cinnamon roll that Felix ran out with, Sylvain’s ridiculously strong coffee that would have probably spilled on him, had he not been careful catching up to Felix, or was it the inviting sounds of Ashe’s melodic voice from the other side of the small birch table. Needless to say, you were comfortable. Pleasant conversation happened between the two of you between sips of tea- you learned that even though he isn’t picky with his likes and dislikes, he only ever drinks mint tea. Perhaps that is why you can’t help but notice the faint smell of mint that captures your attention every time he is around.

You close your book with a soft thud. In the sunlight, you could see the little flecks of dust fly and dance between the two of you- and you blink, trying to adjust your vision to the grey-haired man sitting across from you. Sunlight looks good on him, making his hair look like strands of starlight, and his eyes shining brighter with the enthusiasm of a child who found an extra gummy bear in the bottom of the bag. It's a lovely sight- tender, sweet and warm, words that could describe Ashe well.

A quiet conversation ensues, about places he would have liked to visit in the north if it wasn’t so cold. Ironic, you thought- he could very well have been the sun, for he was so bright, so kind and light. “I would’ve wanted to go further north, maybe to where Sylvain lives- maybe even further to Sreng. I want to take my siblings with me if I could. I don’t think there is a place that I would want to go if they weren’t there with me.” He chuckled, looking down at his cup and swirling the light-colored liquid on the inside. "You must truly love your siblings." You said, catching him off-guard a little. "Yes," He blushed, "I wouldn't know where I would be without them." You noticed that little nervous tick he had, to blush and rub the back of his neck with slight awkwardness. With the redness in his face, his freckles became a little bit more prominent, and you cannot help but think that they were kisses from the universe itself, lining his handsome features, making him look softer than he already was.

He tells you a story. He mentions that he vaguely remembers the memory- a tale of chivalry, he joked, something that he was fond of. You notice how his bright green eyes sparkle a little bit more as he animatedly narrated the little adventure he had with his siblings when he was younger, about gardening mishaps, and how the greenhouse in the Academy always reminded him of what and who he is fighting for. He mentions little details about how he lost his parents but was lucky enough to be taken in by Lonato, a veteran with a scar that crossed his face that reminded him of the lives he took and the lives he saved. “I could safely say that if I was a good man, it was because of him.” He laughs, and it sounds like wind chimes in the soft spring breeze.

You mention how you see him cook with Dedue in the common room often- you tell him that you couldn't help but hear the conversations they often have, and how good the food smells. He explains that his late parents had a restaurant, and he used to help out a lot- his eyes slowly getting glassy at the memory, and he looked away, apologizing at his loss of composure. You thought it was hardly anything to be apologizing for, if anything you should be sorry for prying. You joked that if you knew him better you would've asked him to cook with you. You wanted to cringe as you said that but Ashe's laugh that sang in your ear stopped you from retreating into a little shell of embarrassment. "Then we should!" He enthusiastically replied. Did you just inadvertently ask him on a date?

Ashe continues the conversation, playing with the papers that he left on the desk- he described how when he was younger, he fell in love with the stories his adoptive father told him, about bold knights and blazes of glory. You let out a light laugh, “But now, I find myself conflicted. There is nothing glorious about war. But there is an inherent fascination about conquest.” He sighs, and you couldn’t help but nod in agreement. “It’s wrong to glorify war. But why else would stories about dreamy knights and brave soldiers sell so well, if it wasn’t to celebrate what we could have lost? I don’t understand why we think murder in the name of belief is noble, or morally right, but I do know that I have to learn to begin to understand it even in the slightest. I could empathize with those that must do what they have to, despite their moral implications, to get by and provide for their family and loved ones, but war is something that I'm still grappling with, especially when I find myself wanting to be a brave and noble soldier like Lonato. Maybe that’s why I find myself in Hanneman’s lectures, to understand how much the state makes up man as much as man makes up the state.”

"States are, in its core, human." You chimed in. "Built stone upon stone by mortal hands, breathed into life by hope and ambition. That same ambition is what caused its downfall. Glorifying war is wrong, and there's something so problematic about capitalizing on human suffering, creating enemies out of men who believe and fight for what they believe." You agree. "However, it isn't wrong to want to fight for what you believe in, at least that's what I think. There are always stories that could explain perspectives from both sides. No battle is fought by just one army, and in order to get the full picture, you learn the perspective of the men from the other side of the trench as well." You finish. "That's why Hanneman's lectures can be so thought-provoking. Our culture never actually taught us to see from both sides, we always just assume what we were told was correct. I don't know how much sense I am making right now, but I hope you get what I'm trying to say." You shrug, taking a sip of your tea. "You're right." He smiles up at you. "I don't have all the answers though." You add.

"I didn't expect you to." He smiled, probably the most earnest one you have seen in a long time. You can't help but notice how the tips of your fingers are lightly brushing against each others' and it made the tips of your ears flare up just a little. You hope he wouldn't notice.

You could feel a little lump of fat and fur rub on your leg, making you gasp a little as you look down at the fat tabby cat that lived in the bookshelf in the corner of the café. “Looks like he likes you.” He whispers and smiles. Its soft purrs were intertwined with Ashe’s feathery voice, and you couldn’t have asked for a better person to share your morning with. The sounds of scuffle started to fill the air as he looked at the silver watch on his wrist.

“Well, I will have to get going now, I’m sorry for the heavy stuff I just dropped on you.” Ashe chuckles as he packed up a few of the papers that he left lying around. “Thank you for spending the morning with me. I’ll see you soon.” He said as he slung his leather satchel over his shoulder, the goodbye sounding more like a question (or was it a promise?).

You smile and nod in agreement. Truly it was a great way to start the day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sincerely enjoyed writing this one, and this will probably be a sneak peak of what will come. i really wanted to make the 'you' character say as little as possible, to have as much your opinions inserted into the mind of the reader instead of dictating mine. but it's not really a conversation then, is it? anyway, i hope you enjoyed reading this as much as i enjoyed writing it, and baring my heart and soul on paper. writing has always been a cathartic journey, and i find myself often writing conversations between me and my favourite characters, just to also get to know them better and walk in their shoes. 
> 
> wholeheartedly,  
> 


	3. almost (sweet music)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> annette and you were one and the same, stretching yourself so thin you can barely breathe but so kind either way.  
> 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> best coupled with friends by BTS. 
> 
> annette and reader's relationship is very similar to taehyung and jimin's. 
> 
> also known as, "maybe these are words that you needed to hear". the world can be so cruel and you try your best all the time, but remember that you are only human, and you have a heart that cares so much. you are you at this moment and you are beautiful. 
> 
> some of annette's dialogue are from her supports with byleth in-game.

The noon birds chirp like sweet music in your ears, a nice little thing to ease your nerves after a grueling day in class. It’s a comforting sound, as you find yourself on your way back to Jeralt’s café on the corner of the street. _That place is magic_ , you think as the planty café slowly came to view. You don’t go there during the noontime often. It’s usually reserved for quiet mornings where you needed some time to yourself, taking in scents and sounds to prepare you for the day to come. It was a place where you refused any sort of negativity to hit you, but today was different. You decided that the café should be a place where you can be as much as you can, to feel as much as you can and take in every sensation that was offered.

The bells in front of the door ring as you stepped into the café. The afternoon sun made it look like a place out of a daydream, and you feel yourself exhale that breath you held on for so long. Jeralt, the owner, an older man, is behind the counter, humming a lullaby you swear you have heard somewhere. Was it the church? Or was it something you caught Bylet hum a million times as he rearranges the books on the shelf in the corner of the shop? Either way, it’s nice- a little strange and out of place, but nice enough to feel yourself losing the weight that you were carrying on your shoulders. Nobody else is in the shop, except for you and a little muttering figure sitting in your usual seat, the one near the gramophone, buried into her notes, her orange hair tied up into low pigtails that reminded you of donuts.

Annette. You know her quite well, having the same classes a few times, and living on the same floor as you did. You heard her sing in the shower when you were brushing your teeth, and catching glimpses of her blushing as she stepped out and spotting you- eyes meeting for a split second before she frantically asked you whether you heard that (of course you did, and you wanted to tell her she had a beautiful voice, even Felix told you once that he was captive to it). That was the first year, all of you shy and blushing before the weight of the world was placed on your shoulders. The closer you both got, the more you realized that there was so much more than what met the eye when it came to this girl.

Her hair is bright and blazing- fire. Maybe that was also a great way to describe her- fire, when uncontrolled, a disaster waiting to happen, especially with how clumsy and single-minded she was when it came to her academic pursuits. You see her in the library so often, even when it was past closing time. It often strikes a chord in your heart, wondering how a girl so determined to succeed still retain such a cheerful and childlike demeanor when it came to looking at the world. Her air of positivity could only rival Ashe’s- when your spirits needed raising, Annette was always there. You want to tell her that she deserved a break too, and every time you saw her, you see a body made of crushed stars, wanting to be well.

Maybe this is God’s way of telling you that the both of you were one and the same, finding yourself in the coffee shop, working yourselves to the bone to feed the world, to make something out of nothing. “Sorry Annette took your spot, kiddo.” Jeralt chuckles as you slowly approach the counter. You simply nod- she looked like she needed the seat more than you did. Ordering your usual Almyran Pine tea, you walk towards the muttering redhead.

“Hi Annette! Do you mind if I sit here?” You ask and she nodded enthusiastically, the blurry look she had in her eyes fading to something brighter, quickly clearing the books that crossed over to the other side of the table. “I’m sorry I’m such a mess right now.” She responded, accidentally dropping a few papers on the floor. You help her get them; to which she thanked you with a giggle, before sighing, the cheerful face slowly dropping as she looked back to her notes.

“Are you okay?” you ask, sincerely worried about her health and wellbeing. The Academy was the best university in all of Fodlan, and it could easily get to you with how demanding it was- and even Annette, one of the best and the brightest, could be worn down.

She sighs again, her melodic voice dropping down a few octaves as she mumbled, “Is it that obvious?”

“You know how you and Mercedes and Felix, and Dimitri often tell me that I need to learn how to breathe and learn to be still and be a human being? I tried that, but it has been stressing me out recently about how I didn’t get anything done because I wanted some time to myself but because I took some time to myself I wanted to review some of the material that Rhea was going to teach but now I’m totally lost and confused because I don’t remember any of these and...” She begins to ramble as you take a hold of her hands. They were soft and littered with pen marks, and little formulae, as if the millions of post-it notes attached to her readings were not enough. This was Annette, you think, hardworking and considerate and clumsy and endearing- and you understood every little thing she felt.

“I understand how you feel, Annette.” You sigh as you took a sip of the tea. The smell was always what got to you- earthy and strong, it reminded you of the woods behind your home, there was a small stream that led to a rushing waterfall, the noise always drowning yours out whenever you needed to scream- it was what you needed in times like these. You thought the stream might have been bigger once upon a time before the earth needed to break and build and accommodate man. You wished you knew Annette when you were younger, how much the waterfall would have been as helpful to her as it was to you. “Do you want a sip?” you ask. “It always reminds me of home.”

“Tea would be great, especially since I think I consumed so many sweets and coffee it could give me a heart attack.” Annette laughed, her voice sounding like music. From the gramophone, words that sang _Be still, my foolish heart/ Don’t ruin this on me_ plays. You couldn’t find a song more fit to describe the situation you were in.

“Thank you.” She sipped and handed you back the cup. “Maybe I’m not cut out for doing nothing.”

You suggest she close her books and just be, despite the difficulty- and start a conversation. You talk about music, and she chimes in happily, talking about Beethoven and how he put extremely detailed directions in every score.

“Having directives limit the choices for the performers, but we play on anyway because we have to. I guess that’s why I like his music a lot because I think directives and restrictions make music so easy to understand.” Annette explains. “It’s like being busy, I like being busy- it gives me direction.”

She was indeed fire- maybe not the kind you were thinking of- she was the kind that you found in fireplaces and campsites- the start, the kind at heart. The way she spoke of what she loved and the way she put it into little songs that she would hum as she wrote her notes, or sang out loud as she gardened in the greenhouse, Annette possessed an unwavering love for humanity, and maybe that is why she worked so hard- she works hard to see the little impact she could leave on the great big world that was full of chaos.

You remember the conversation you both shared over dumplings in the common room after she almost set off the fire alarm (the second time in the week), sharing heartfelt stories about her family, how her father finally reconciled with her family and how she has never been happier since that day, to conversations about math and making pinky promises that the both of you will be the ones to top the class that year. She talked about Mercie’s dreamcatcher and how close the two of them were, and how she wished both of you could be closer. And now, you can evidently say that she is one of your best and closest friends. 

“You know, when this is all over, I want to be a teacher. There’s just so much I can do to motivate kids that have so much potential and want to change the world. I want to be someone who can help them grow and learn, convince mini-mes to take it easy sometimes. I want to help them as much as this tiny being can” She says, unexpectedly, her eyes fixated on the café’s tabby cat that was prancing around outside trying to catch a butterfly.

“You’re so kind to others, Annette,” you said slowly, lightly tightening the grip around her fingers. “You need to be kinder to yourself. You’re doing the best you can, under the circumstances you are given. I don’t know if that is what you needed to hear, but I want you to know that I’m here for you, and I understand.”

And you truly did. You need her to know that you know how it felt to be stretched so thin but still try to look at the world through rose-tinted glasses, to have a heart that wants to be the best possible version of yourself because that’s how you think the world deserves a little bit more happiness.

Annette saw the world as a place with a slow beginning, a place that allowed man to grow and learn, with a bright, fiery end- one that ends ablaze, its memory etched in the stars forevermore. _Like her_ , you think. Her hard work and determination were different from Claude’s and Edelgard’s- it was probably because she grew up in Fhirdiad, her line of thought so much more similar to that of Dimitri’s. “You know, when I’m with you, I really feel like I can be myself.” She giggled. “Like it’s okay to not do my best.”

“I’m glad then.” You replied, feeling the weight you carried to the café slowly be lifted, may be shared between the two.

Kindred spirits indeed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> honestly a lot more conversation-based than i expected but it was like the two wolves that resided in me were having a conversation, reminding each other that you can only do so much and what you are doing is enough. 
> 
> i don't really like how it ended up because it is a lot of conversation and straying from what i wanted it to be, but i love Annette so much and i cannot help but relate to her, so it might be ooc or i projected too much into Annette. but i hope you enjoy this chapter. 
> 
> i’m also extremely excited to write the next one and it’ll be quite the conversation between reader and dedue. 
> 
> comments and constructive criticism welcomed and encouraged!
> 
> wholeheartedly,  
> 


	4. like real people do

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> sylvain loves and he loses, and is all too familiar with the mortifying ordeal of being known.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a syl character study, more than anything. i am so madly in love with this man, i tried to make it extra yearning. 
> 
> i came across the most well-written essay on the new york times from 2013 titled "I Know What You Think Of Me" by Tim Kreider. did you know that's where the "the mortifying ordeal of being known" meme came from? when i read it i immediately thought of sylvain even though i promised a dedue chapter. BUT ITS FINALLY! SYLVAIN!!! i hope you figure out that the song sylvain is listening to is stigma by bts
> 
> best coupled with stigma by bts

_Sylvain Jose Gautier is a fucking cliché,_ you think.

Sylvain Jose Gautier. Resident heartbreaker, loose cannon, cannot and will not be tied down. This one has a charming and irresistible smile, perfectly strung words coming out from his mouth like he rehearsed or said a million times, but you can’t help but fall for it anyway. A blazing star with a serpent’s tongue- beautiful, sharp, tempting. Sylvain Jose Gautier makes time feel like it was to be enjoyed, shy giggles in dark corners, fingers grazing lightly as you walk side by side, stolen kisses between classes. Someone you turn down time and time again. _You’re so persistent it genuinely borders on desperation_. You often tell him, Felix nodding, ready to berate him after you did. Someone who falls in love a little bit everyday with someone new and hates seeing people cry. But as he got older, his popularity became something that he used to keep people at arm’s length, leaving people he truly trusted easily countable on his fingers. When people gave their lovers nicknames to establish intimacy, Sylvain did so to establish a boundary, to let them know that this was all they’re going to get and that it was the beginning of the end. “Oh does the bad boy have feelings?” You joke. “Haha, very funny.” He says, sticking his tongue out. Maybe you did want to kiss him at that moment.

Sylvain. He is as much Sylvain Jose Gautier as he is Sylvain, but a layer of his thick skin peeled off. Sylvain was intelligent, scheming, profound. Maybe rivaling Claude, a person you needed to look out for. That’s also probably why they could be best friends if the two tried hard enough. He loved board games and Choose-Your-Own-Adventure novels, always prepared to choose the hardest route, always wanting to put himself in a position where he was challenged. Sylvain loves art, often finding himself exploring galleries and museums alone, stopping from painting to sculpture to photograph, eyeing them intensely to look at what the artist was trying to convey- conversations lasting into the deepest of nights, talking about how he thought the small speck of red paint on the emperor’s coat was a symbol of the atrocities she committed put into contrast against the cheering masses under her, symbolizing that every drop of blood she shed was for the greater good. You thought Edelgard and him would’ve been best friends at that moment. Sylvain was mischievous, always ready to pull every fire alarm he saw, despite knowing how much you _hated_ being woken up at 4 am to leave the dormitories for evacuation. Sometimes he does these things to light a flame under his closest friends. He found himself snickering in the corner, a cocky smile plastered on his face with Ingrid next to him chewing his ear off for his irresponsibility.

Syl. He hates that nickname Dimitri gave him when they were little, crying because he slipped and fell and bruised his knee on a trip they went with Felix’s family in Sreng. He looked after Dimitri and Felix like he should, taking on the responsibility of being their older brother in the absence of Lambert and Rodrigue. He wouldn’t tell anyone but he loved them so much he often feels his heart breaking whenever he saw Dimitri in a fit of rage after seeing how Dedue was treated by _a certain someone_ on campus, or Felix on the brink of collapse after pushing himself to his limit studying for his Organic Chemistry exam. Syl liked his coffee with 5 shots of espresso, often earning concerned looks from Byleth before flashing his million-watt smile that he usually reserves when he just feels like Sylvain Jose Gautier. Syl, the lover, the fighter, the one that often finds himself on the brink of tears looking at the stars in the roof of their dorm. A young man forced to grow up in an environment that saw his worth before they saw his person- someone attempting to learn how to love in all forms, not fleeting touches and a new person next to him every week. Someone who found themselves ear deep into a song and wanting to memorize the words, singing it to himself, dancing alone in the kitchen at 2 am, hoping no one wakes up.

Sylvain Gautier was incredibly human, someone who loved the universe and all it had to offer so much and so deeply, with as much sincerity thought was best to give.

Maybe that is why he found himself in the corner seat of Jeralt’s café at 11 PM, cramming for his Art History final with Manuela, knowing that even his charm won’t let him off the hook this time, his phone turned off and shoved into a deep corner of his expensive backpack to ignore any texts from the many people he let down by breaking up with them. He just wanted to get this done and ace the exam so he could go to Ignatz’s art exhibition tomorrow and to catch up with the fanfiction Bernadetta wrote about a dark knight and a mercenary (Sylvain was a sucker for historical fiction). Sylvain really loved everything the Academy had to offer- the people he could love and lose, the art he could admire, the things he could learn. The song that played from the gramophone is an old one, one he remembers listening to on the radio on the way to Claude’s place in highschool and he may or may not have wanted to have his first kiss with that song playing in the background (He can’t help it, he is a romantic). It’s in a language that he couldn’t understand, but it didn’t stop him from enjoying the little that he could. It has a lyric that says, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry my brother.” The singer’s voice was soulful, repentant, desperate- whispering words that maybe he wanted to express but could have never found the words for.

Then he spots you, rather flustered and annoyed that he had sat in your usual spot- he did this on purpose usually. Since the beginning of the school year, competition over who gets to sit on the so-called ‘best seat’ in Jeralt’s café occurs often between the two of you, and tonight, he wins. Sylvain wanted it because it gave him the opportunity to admire the twins as they worked, you wanted it for the same reason. Both of you definitely didn’t become friends because you had a _tiny_ crush on Felix or anything, no, not at all. Truth be told, you and Sylvain were uncomfortably similar- the both easily fall in love with anyone that has a pulse, not because of anything but the sole reason that the world was just full of fascinating and lovely people you can’t help but fall in love. That’s why you often think Sylvain’s claims of being sincere every time Dorothea turns him down was true- he was sincere in his own, convoluted way.

You drop your things on the seat across him, not caring about the confused look he shot you or his jittery palms after drinking whatever concoction he called coffee. The fragrances of mint and day-old lingering coffee and aloe in the cafe made adrenaline shoot through you, It was just too good of a night for you to retreat to the comfort of your bed, so you chose to get a piece of the bread with Gautier cheese you liked so much. Even when left out for a while, you can still hear the crispness of the bread as you bit into it, the dish lightly crumbling in your fingers, dusting your pants with small pastry flakes. You found it ridiculous, that his family created and sold their brand of cheese. “It’s the region,” Sylvain explains, knowing very well that someone should know that the Gautiers did own a large piece of land north of Faerghus. “It doesn’t make it any less ridiculous.” You counter.

“You know, I’m free tomorrow, we should go to Ignatz’s exhibition together.” Sylvain offers, knowing you would enjoy it as much, maybe more than he did.

“I’m going with or without you, Syl.” 

“Go with me and it’ll be twice the fun, I promise.”

“Sylvain, we both know that you’re going either way too. Why else will you be here at midnight cramming for an exam that the both of us know you’re going to ace and not flirting with that girl who’s been staring at you since the dawn of time? Also, Dimitri asked me to get you because he’s worried.”

“I’m being responsible.” Sylvain eyed you, “What, is it that surprising?” He said, his voice surprisingly cold. Cold wasn’t the right word- he was tired. You couldn’t say you knew Sylvain like you knew the back of your hand or the same way you knew anyone else from the Blue Lions House. On the exterior, he seemed to be someone who had their heart on his sleeve, romantic, charming and foolish, more often than not. However, the more you got to know him, you had the sense that he kept his cards to himself, keeping people at a distance but for people who he thought deserved to know who he was, broken and vulnerable and all.

You rest your hand on your palm and observe the redhead in front of you. His eyebrows are furrowed, deep in thought as he intently looks at his computer screen. “You know, taking a picture lasts longer.” He winks, “You know what, I would much rather focus on you rather than this now that you’re here.”

“You need to sleep, you fool.” You reply, “Who would go out with you when you have a face that looks like it’s aged a thousand years?”

“It doesn’t really matter; besides, I might have my eyes set on you, you couldn’t possibly say no.”

You cringe at his response as he laughs, straightening himself on his seat. It couples well with the yellow light of the café and the jazz music playing from the gramophone. “Mercie asked me this the other day, and I’ve been wondering about what you would say.” You muse. “Do you need me to become your pretend boyfriend so we can make them jealous and maybe we both fall in love along the way because I’ll be down for that.” He joked.

“Ew, no.” It might have hurt him a little, noticing how he leaned back and crossed his arms.

“Your loss.” His smile not quite reaching his eyes. Sylvain was probably the only other person you knew who mastered the art of fake smiles. “Anyway, the question.”

“Do you care what other people think of you?”

“First, no. You know this. I am a good-for-nothing with money and that’s that. Second, were you and Mercie talking about me because I thought I was the only one not able to stop thinking about you.”

“We weren’t talking about you. She asked me about it when she found me wanting to tear my hair out talking to Manuela because she marked me down for a grade just because I didn’t quite agree with her perspectives.”

“Well, I don’t see why you should care. People have their opinions about you either way, might as well live with it, or prove them wrong.”

“Why do you choose to live with it?”

“I’ve accepted the fact that people love the idea of me as opposed to who I am, plus, the ladies love a dark, brooding noble. No wonder bad boys sell. Instead of baring my soul to those who see me as a prize, I might as well give them a show. I never really cared about what other people think about me, and I probably know what they say behind my back, that I’m a ladykiller, bad news.”

“That’s not entirely true,” you retorted. “there’s a bunch of people who really look up to you- I know Annette does, even though it can come off as jealousy. You are intelligent and have strong opinions about a lot of things, and I find Hanneman mention you every time I go to his office hours and not going to lie, which made me want to strangle you a little. There is little to no student here that’s as well rounded as you are. Even Manuela sometimes fawns over you, saying how lucky she was to have a student as handsome as you are.” You told him, and you weren’t lying. Sylvain was so used to people knowing him as Sylvain Jose Gautier, and maybe it was a little lonely up there.

You notice him staring at you, trying to read your face- figuring out if you were being sincere or not, a feeling he was all too familiar with, and he hated himself for it. “What about you? What do you think of me?” He asked, his voice cracking, vulnerable. It was the exhaustion that got to him, for Sylvain would never allow other people to see the mask crack.

Truth be told, you thought of him as a friend. He was the few that didn’t mind your incessant rambling about art and politics and the universe, and if anything, he loves it. You remember that one time when you were younger you found him in the edge of the woods behind your home, looking really lost and confused. He explained to you that he was lost, that he strayed away from his brother and now he doesn’t know his way back. He was muddy and had tear-stained cheeks, knees scraped and knuckles bleeding. He couldn’t have been lost, you remember thinking. You weren’t from Faerghus, and the sight of a lost, crying redhead a few years older than you certainly bewildered you and your family. A few years later, he mentioned how he wasn’t lost and that his brother left him, but the saddest part was when he said, _I understand why he hates me._ You learn that his brother was written off from being the heir to the Gautier empire because of a rare genetic disease, something that he had no control over, and you think that no 10-year-old should’ve felt like a token to be prized rather than a human being to be loved. You never had to experience everything that Sylvain had gone through, and you know you weren’t as special, not even close. You had a family that saw you as fully human and fully flawed but was loved unconditionally anyway. Sylvain didn’t get that chance.

“I think of you the same way I think of anyone else.” You shrugged, being as earnest as possible. “Deserving of unconditional love, above everything else.”

“Deserving of unconditional love, huh?” Sylvain sighs, a million thoughts rushing through his head.

“You’re thinking too fast.” You point out.

“I’m only trying to catch up with you.”

“I think we often think that unconditional love is loving someone and ignoring all the flaws and brokenness inside them, but I don’t think that’s true. Unconditional love is more like loving someone despite their darkness, their brokenness and all.”

“Do you think I am even deserving of that?” He then says.

“You of all people do. You know, there’s this experiment that goes something like this. You go to a room that has recordings of everything people said about you, both good and bad. However, you need to hear all the bad stuff before you get to the good stuff. I know I won’t last a minute into it. I care too much about what people think, but I don’t know about you. The point is, I think, as very well said in an essay I read, if we want the rewards of being loved, we have to submit to the mortifying ordeal of being known.”

“So this is the mortifying ordeal of being known?” Sylvain smiled softly, probably the most genuine one you’ve seen all night. “I hate it.” He laughs.

“Well, if you want to talk about it, I’m here all year. But for now, let’s please go back to the dorms? How do you expect to admire Ignatz’s art if you’re barely standing on your own two feet?”

“You’re going to hold me up because we’re going together,” Sylvain replies.

“We’ll see.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> woh i had so much fun writing this, if you cannot tell i indulged myself and wrote a 2k word character study on sylvain because i genuinely love him so so so much. there is nothing i would not do for him. i hope you like it! the mood was set when i was listening to joonpiter on youtube's sweet night by v but it's closing hours at danbam pub (also the first chapter where the fat tabby cat didn't make its appearance) 
> 
> wholeheartedly,  
> gautiercheese


	5. I Can Cry Power

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> duscur's dry bones will come alive once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have been trying to come up with words or a work of fiction that could address the situation of the world right now. I've had this idea in my head for a while now, especially because Fire Emblem: Three Houses inherently discusses racism, power struggle, and oppression, and what better way than to bring what reality is offering us now into fiction, to eternalize this moment in time. Racism is not only an American issue but a global one. This is a moment in time where so many people are banded together, claiming power over those who oppress and subjugate.
> 
> Moreover, because this chapter deals with a lot of current issues like the Black Lives Matter movement, anti-blackness, and racism, please do not hesitate to call me out or correct me if I said something that might have unintentionally hurt or something that is problematic.
> 
> If you'd like to contribute in any way to the Black Lives Matter movement, be it through contacting your local government office, donations, petitions or through processes of defunding the police institutions in the United States, here is the link to a carrd that has a lot of available resources.
> 
> http://blacklivesmatter.carrd.co/

It has been a while since you stepped foot into Jeralt’s planty café. As the situation of the world slowly descended into chaos, you could feel your psyche respond accordingly- with a sense of anger and resentment at the current establishment, hopelessness at your inability to help make the situation better, and heartbreak over the rampant loss of life due to the circumstances.

However, in the warm summer night and hum of mosquitos, you found yourself making your way there- maybe it was to feel something, maybe because you were sick of tossing and turning in bed and decided that if there was anything that could calm your nerves it would be a cup of bergamot tea and the feel of the fat tabby cat’s fur against your leg with slow jazz playing in the back. Or maybe it was the sight of the twins, Byleth’s chirpy nature as she took orders at odd hours, or Bylet’s scrunched eyebrows as he tried to arrange the books back in place, meticulously putting them in order of title, author and date of publication.

Or maybe it was the conversations that you might have had with their patrons, the sense of false security in familiarity, of knowing who visited and ordered what. Everyone was friends with everyone at the Academy, even though some people (Claude, Dedue, Felix, Sylvain… maybe the whole of the Blue Lions House…) liked to keep people at arm’s length, maybe even further.

The bells on the door sing as you enter the café and the smell of freshly brewed tea instantly tickled your nostrils and Jeralt’s “Welcome back kid!” booms from the counter. “It’s been a while; I was starting to worry,” Byleth said as you approach her. “I mean, I still see you in class and all, so I knew you weren’t dead or anything- but you have been rather withdrawn. Got things on your mind?” You remember that Byleth was one of your instructors- one of your favorite ones, in fact. “Yeah, sorry about that Professor.” You reply, not knowing what to do when put in a situation like that. “Not professor yet, but that’s okay. Oh welcome, Dedue!” She says as you hear the familiar twinkle of the entrance bells.

You smile as the tall man walks to the counter. He smiles back- it was rare to see him smile, but when he did, it was always so kind and warm, even though it seemed like he was oceans apart. You knew him from your many encounters with the Blue Lions, often joining in in their cooking sessions, and sometimes you even spot him in the greenhouse tending to the plants. You found him gentle and rather charming- if that was the appropriate word to describe him. Dedue wasn’t a man of many words. He was stern and stoic, but the ones you did exchange with him were often extremely cathartic. He was exceedingly polite, and you often wonder if that was because he was afraid of saying the wrong thing. He was always calm and composed despite knowing how chaotic the Blue Lions could be. You learned so much from him, about his past, about Fodlan’s past, about past and present relations between Faerghus and Duscur, about issues of class, power, race that you didn’t hear from unless it was from Claude, Dimitri or Sylvain. It broke your heart most times- being someone who was also not ethnically from Fodlan but had the privilege of quietly assimilating into its society.

“There’s true privilege in that, you know.” You recall the conversation you had with Claude. “There are people from lands beyond Fodlan and Almyra and Dagda and Brigid that could quietly settle and raise the ranks in Fodlan, with or without a crest. But you should also remember that a lot of people, especially those from Sreng, Duscur, and Almyra that were used as scapegoats. The myth of the model minority is exactly that, a myth, used by the people of Fodlan to oppress those who they couldn’t accept.”

“Hi Dedue, what would you like?” You ask, not bothering about the fact that you were in a sweater that you owned since middle school and a pair of mismatched shoes that he (very kindly) would point out about later. “No, that would be alright.” He shakes his head. “No, I insist.”

“Alright, thank you then. Ginger tea, please.” He nods, with slight resistance. “Would you like to join me? It’s always a pleasure to hang out with you.” You ask, preparing yourself for a “No, that would be alright” or “It would be best if not.” So his nod of approval was slightly unexpected.

It was sad that most of your allowance was spent fueling your caffeine addiction or the fact that you genuinely just loved this place more than life itself, but you really treasured this quaint little shop. Being in Dedue’s company is always nice. More often than not, being with Dedue was quite rowdy and you never actually found yourself in a situation where it was just the two of you. It was always with Ashe or Dimitri or Mercedes, and they would do most of the talking while he would just sit and listen, often offering his opinions, but never trying to make himself heard, unlike Lorenz or Ferdinand. Perhaps it was because they were cut from different cloth, Lorenz and Ferdinand were individuals who came from rich and powerful families.

You didn’t know a lot about Dedue’s background, and it never seemed like he wanted to talk about it, so you never pried. Being in Dedue’s company in Jeralt’s café, with the sounds of soft jazz and the cat’s meow every now and then, and the ever-present smell of coffee and pastries that lingered, gave you a sense of calm that you probably would have never found anywhere else especially now, even though you were technically still reading the news about riots and protests that ravaged the northeastern coast of Fodlan, near Kleiman territory.

“I’m sorry I’m not the most interesting partner to have a conversation with.” He said, breaking the silence. “It’s alright.” You say, as you put your phone down. You catch him take a glance at your phone.

“Is that what was bothering you?”

You stutter. “Remember what Ashe said about uncomfortable and difficult conversations being those that must be had? Do you mind if I ask you how I can provide support for you? I don’t really know what else to do, frankly. I want to act and be an accomplice instead of a performative ally and I will do the work I have to.”

“There are many things you and a lot of people here can do. I see you do what you can, and I think you have done many things that I genuinely appreciate. I have just grown weary of people expecting me and others from Duscur here to do the work of educating those who are unaware of the situation at hand. Duscur is a dead land.” He continues, “but it was not always the case.”

“I don’t know why I am telling you all of this,” Dedue admits. “In my opinion, all you need to do is show that you actually care through your actions. Many of the pro-Duscur activism in Fodlan is often performative, and it causes more harm than good.”

“It’s unusual to hear to talk about something with as much passion as this. If you want to share, of course, I’ll be happy to hear more.” You respond. “Noone can deny Fodlan has a bloody history.”

“Indeed.” Dedue agrees. “It is a country created by war and oppression, bloodshed and death, empires toppling each other in a quest for power- and it came with the cost of the lives- often, unjustly. The people of Agartha and Duscur suffered because of what? Our skin color? Our difference in beliefs? Ever since I was young, I was forced to be in the company of the people who brought destruction and carnage to _my_ home, to smile and put my head down, to live and learn to accept the historical trauma that people from Duscur had to face in Faerghus and Greater Fodlan. I know when someone from Faerghus says that this is a world that we share, my world and theirs is divided by walls and barbed wire.”

Dedue knew that better than most people; but what gave him the right and privilege to be able to study in an institution of higher learning as prestigious as the Officers Academy- a university that educated revolutionaries and tyrants alike, those who were responsible for the multigenerational trauma that he and his people had to face. There was not a moment when Dedue was angry, heartbroken, and lamenting. He lost count of the number of people- friends, family, neighbors- he lost to police brutality, incarceration, poverty- diseases of a nation that turned a blind eye to the sufferings of Duscur, after profiting from their exploitation. To be a person from Duscur in white Faerghus was to be vulnerable and naked to all its evils, without a system set to protect them.

“Do you remember Professor Nevrand’s lecture about a system not being able to fail those they never sought to protect, when she discussed the evils and atrocities that Fodlan has committed against Dagda, Brigid, Agartha, Duscur, and Almyra?” He asked, his face remaining calm. “If anything, this outrage is a response to long-term oppression. It is the tipping point. There has never been a day that I do not lament over the loss that people from Duscur had to face, even when Fodlan claims to “not see color”.” Dedue adds.

“A large problem that I believe the people of Fodlan succumb to is their need to be the hero in every situation, and they often do not see how they are suffocating and destroying lives in that process. I shared this thought with Ashe the other day. But, to be completely candid, it also really pleases me to know that I can speak to you like this, it fills me with hope, that perhaps with individuals such as you supporting this cause.”

“It’s probably time I don’t give in to fear or despair then. There’s still so much we have to do.” You offer him a small smile. “This is inherently a Fódlan problem, and reform can only come when Fódlan initiates it.”

“That is correct. But there are many people that are not from Duscur or Agartha that are pressuring Fodlan’s institutions to dismantle their oppressive systems and support this movement.” Dedue sighs as he takes a hold of your hand from across the table. “And people like them, people like you, make me glad. Perhaps. Duscur’s dry bones can come alive again.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you have the time, please do read Between the World and Me by Ta-Neshi Coates. 
> 
> I tried to add my own experiences as a BIPOC studying in a majority white campus in New England. I have experienced racism and microagressions, even in classrooms and extracurricular activities, but those experiences are my own and I do not intend to generalise narratives and individual lived experiences of racism in the US. 
> 
> I also finally finished my play of the Blue Lions route, and I will probably be routinely updating from now on, but no promises.

**Author's Note:**

> quarantine writing hits different because we yearn for better days to come. // best coupled with magic_shop.mp3 by bts


End file.
